I'm imagining afterglow Luke and omg he's so sweet and beautiful đ„ș
anon, iâm gonna do you one better: imagine itâs the very first time youâre seeing him like this. the âgrand finaleâ has occurred, youâre both lying there staring at the ceiling and panting as though you just tried outrunning a herd of fathiers. it was messy, it was clumsy, and it might have ended just a little too soon-but you loved every second of it. you can hardly believe it happened-with him. and as you look over to gauge his reaction, it seems luke canât either.
he roughly runs a hand through his hair, blinking rapidly, and starts giggling. itâs the sort of giggle that spills out like a gush of spring water, almost effortless and full of ebullient joy. he cracks a toothy grin. ââŠwow,â he says somewhat hoarsely, cheeks a healthy shade of pink. âthat wasâŠâ briefly he covers his face with both hands, searching for a word that apparently doesnât materialize. âwow.â
âyeah,â you agree, turning on your side to really drink him in. luke mirrors your movements, forming his bent arm into a makeshift pillow. the gazes lock, hold, and you let your eyes travel along the body thatâs no longer a mystery. in a little while, when you return to your quarters and your lonely bunk, youâll ruminate on the exact taste of his salty sweat; the veins in his magnificent large hands; the wild, desperate look in his eyes as you fumbled with each otherâs clothes; the sounds heâd made during the act, those shaky breaths and whimpers, the low moans and pleading that sent shock waves right to your center.
but for now, this is enough. to lie together companionably and enjoy the afterglow of it all, bask in the warmth of lukeâs slightly tanned skin and the affectionate way he studies you. âyou alright?â he asks, snuggling a bit closer.
âoh, iâm fine,â you hum, leaning in so that your noses practically touch.
âwas it good?â
âyou were wonderful. really.â
maker, heâs beautiful when he smiles. âso were you.â quick as hyperspace he plants a kiss on your parted lips. âreally.â
shaking your head, you chase after the promise of another anointing from that sweet mouth and insist âluke, youâre too nice to me.â
he happily gives it to you and replies, âthis is âbeing too nice,â huh? wellâŠi guess iâll just have to keep doing it until you believe you deserve it. you free tomorrow night?â
you frame his impish face between your palms and bestow loud, smacking kisses on every part until heâs laughing and squirming against you. sometimes it still feels like a dream, his choosing you. âi think my schedule just magically cleared up.â
This is the magic lucky word count. Reblog for creativity juice. It might even work, who knows.
Absolutely dogshit article on the fucking awful new york times today, just disgusting tone throughout basically implying no contact with your abusive family is a social media trend, and often done by frivolous reasons
Instead of the horrible but LIFE SAVING choice a lot of us are basically forced into
It makes me fucking sick that they thought it was okay to speak to "estranged parent's organisations" - would you seek out the POV of other types of abusers too? Think they're gonna do anything but justify their abuse and lie?
It's over before it begins.
You're so used to being unloved that you don't know how to be loved. You don't know what it means when he says I love you, his eyes containing galaxies and his pupils contracting. He's the universe and magic and still human, blood running to his cheeks.
You were leaving, and yet you can't break off from the universe, so you cannot really ever leave. The colour of his cheeks is the sun, and you're a planet rotating him.
His hand â human, part machine, all him â reaches to yours.
I am choosing to love you.
It was over before it even begun. His ocean eyes were your home and you drowned and woke up simultaneously.
There are so many tiny details and differences! Itâs adorable!
if youâre having a bad day, hereâs a cute little marching band
Adding my own favorite fictional men to the tags
the bond between a girl and their favorite fictional man is both an unstoppable force and an immovable object
wheelchairs and canes and glasses and hearing aids and every single other mobility aid should be free btw and if you disagree i hate you
Black cats are lucky. (via leahweissmuller)
Did anyone else think the description was gonna be about DinLuke because of the picture? Because that picture to me looks like a DinLuke fan edit.
THEYâRE GETTING A FUCKING MOVIEđŁïžđŁïžđŁïž
As my ex would say, especially Luke Skywalker
Every writer has two sides:
"I love my characters, they are my children and will protect them with my life"
"I wanna make them suffer so fucking much"
I have both adhd and autism and I have never found a better metaphor than this as of yet.
And now for something completely different.
This is the ADHD Teapot. I made it in a ceramics class a few years ago. I use it to explain executive dysfunction to people who havenât come across the term before (and those who think of ADHD mostly as Hyperactive Eight Year Old Boy Syndrome).
So, most peopleâs brains are like a regular shaped teapot with a single spout. Letâs say that your time, energy, focus etc is the liquid you have in the teapot. Your executive function is the spout, that directs the tea into the specific cup you want to fill-aka the task that youâre meant to be doing. Spills happen occasionally, but generally most of the tea goes in the right cup.
If you have executive dysfunction, (a symptom of ADHD, trauma, autism, schizophrenia etc.) you have multiple spouts going in different directions. You can try pointing one of them at your chosen cup and you will probably get some liquid in there, perhaps you will even fill it right up (finish the task). But meanwhile, tea is also pouring out of several other places and not going where you want it. If you have another container nearby, perhaps some of it will end up in there. But quite a lot of it is going to end up on the floor and accomplish nothing.
And at the end of the day youâll have filled one or two cups ( or sometimes not even one) compared to the five or six that somebody with the same sized teapot (but only one spout) has filled, and everyone wonders why youâre so bad at getting tea poured, and why you make such a mess in the process.
One day Iâd like to spend more time learning pottery and create a really technically good fucked up little adhd teapot. But thatâs a long way off since i currently live in the outback and the nearest pottery workshop is some 400km away. But I figure that for now, it might be a useful or interesting metaphor to somebody even in its rough draft form.
This post is the cup I filled instead of cleaning my house btw.